


the hour of departure arrives

by Nichevoya



Series: the hour of departure arrives [1]
Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Bill is an angry grandpa, Explicit Language, Francis has a lot of bad luck, Gen, Inspired by Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Louis is Mr Positive, Other, Special Infected, Survival, Swearing, They're vampires right?, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichevoya/pseuds/Nichevoya
Summary: It's only the beginning (of the end); summer is in full swing, Louis is still Mr. Positive, and everywhere seems like a shit-hole overrun by the infected. The military isn't going to help them; they can only help themselves, so the team rallies their best efforts trekking through cities, country-sides, and so forth. Looking for anything, living off of anything.Will they find other survivors? Will they survive the elements, the zombies, or even themselves/each other?





	the hour of departure arrives

**Author's Note:**

> Note: SO, this is my first piece in a LONG while. My writing is rusty as a really bad spoon. Also it's almost 1AM and I'm struggling with the formatting of this what the heck???? It looks okay on my document bUT LIKE TRASH HERE. So good luck. If you make it through the fic, know that I'll do everything in my power to make the next chapter look NICER and not as painful on the eyes. but for now, I SURRENDER.
> 
> I've italicized the the names of the special infected mentions/to be mentioned, as to imply their importance/difference compared to other infected. The list is as follows in no particular order: smoker, hunter, witch, tank. 
> 
> Some of the character dialogue is mixed in with actual quotes from gameplay.

 

    “Take the shot already. We aren’t gettin’ any older, Zoey darlin’.” His voice is gruff, and Zoey barely notices Francis as she flexes her fingers. They’re stiff and sticky with sweat from being locked over the trigger for too long. Small beads of perspiration collect on her forehead, and she takes a moment to swipe at it with her arm. It’s the only time she breaks position, her limbs heavy with the summer heat.

     Her jacket is already tied around her waist instead to stave off the temperature. A white tank offers what little it can do, leaving her arms bare and slightly pink from the sun’s glare. The scope presses against her eye, and she follows the slow hobbling of an infected. Francis switches the way he holds his gun from his left arm, to his right. It’s a sign of impatience; he even shifts from one foot to the other, a too long and too dramatic sigh.

_Breath: in, and out. Focus..._  

     The shot reverberates, a strange and hollow sort of echo between the buildings. A low whistle from her friend tells her it was a clean headshot; an appreciative mark worthy of acknowledging. But as she lowers the gun, he snorts and says, “Yea, anybody coulda’ made that one.”  
  
     “Whatever.” she replies shortly. But she’s smiling. Francis is too as he fires off two more rounds. His favored shotgun takes down two at a time, sometimes more if he aims just right. She gives a nod of approval, her hand held up like a visor to get a better view.

    But it's short lived. There’s too much action from the far right, and she starts, only for their attention to snap from that distant rooftop, to the door of their own. It slams open and reveals a wide-eyed Louis. And, a rather angry Bill. They look between them both, and then past them to their hunting grounds. “Damn it, Francis! Damn it, Zoey! What the hell are you two doing?” Bill’s voice carries, practically growling the words.  

   “Aw, come on old man, it was stuffy in there. We came up for fresh air, and to take down some of those vampires.” Zoey gives Francis a look, for probably the thousandth time. He insists on calling them vampires every now and then, and shrugs her off, unwilling to change his choice of words. 

   “Just trying to keep sharp,” Zoey says. Bill turns on her, looking both hurt and angry.  
  
   “You two could have alerted the nearest horde for miles around. Do you have any idea how sound travels?” She winces, and lowers her head. He's right of course. Neither of them had thought anything of it. And because of that, they put all of their lives in danger.

   “It didn’t though. We were careful,” Zoey replies, sounding apologetic. Louis shakes his head, raising his pistol and paces the roof on each side.  
  
    Bill isn't done, though. “What if a _tank_ came, what would you two have done then? With us separated, and --”

    They all hear it; each of them moving with uncanny synchronicity, guns raised, backs together, and at the ready. _Coughing._ Not just any coughing. Long, drawn out wheezing coughs; it's the gasping of a _smoker_.

   “Special infected,” Louis calls out first.

   “ _Smoker_!” Zoey replies, hunting rifle raised.

   “Keep tight, wait for it. It'll come to us,” Bill orders, reining in their focus.

     Francis turns on the spot, shotgun ready with a taunt on his lips. He doesn't get a chance to say anything though as the _smoker_ wheezes, and shuffles closer. It moves to the rooftop adjacent to theirs, hiding from direct fire. They hear the whorl of the tongue from wherever it is, and Francis’ swearing.

     Everyone breaks form. Zoey is closest to him and grapples for the infected’s tongue. They're too close together, shooting at it would be a risk none of them are willing to take. She groans with disgust and opts for pulling at the sticky muscle wrapped around him. It breaks with a few minutes of effort, whipping back across the way, and into the _smoker’s_ waiting mouth.

   “Thanks, Zo.” Francis says as he wipes at some of the gooey residue left behind. The _smoker_ chokes a few times, heaving, and wheezing to a new hiding place.

  
      Everyone takes a moment to look each other over and gather their bearings. They don’t let their guard down, with the smoker nearby, but at least none of them have been seriously hurt. Bill, while relieved of this, still appears angry with their negligence. His fury is short lived though and twists into something else, broken and replaced by fear as Louis yells. “ _Here they come!_ ”  
  
      Zombies climb, jump, run, and come at them from all directions. In the midst of everything, the real chaos comes with the horde somehow being alerted to their presence. The putrid odor of their bodies fills their nostrils just as soon as gunpowder and metal. The zombies groan and growl, lunging for anything they can. Some even fight amongst themselves, clawing at each other like wildly savage and deprived creatures. Flesh torn and hanging loosely, tendon shriveled, bones snapped, teeth gnashed together or otherwise falling from decomposed gums. They snap, craving what they need, what they want so terribly from anything that lives and breathes:  _flesh._  
  
      Francis uses his pump shotgun, blasting small groups of them to pieces. The singular rounds echoing around them, while Bill also uses a shotgun to fight off part of the horde. Louis wields two pistols, giving him a quicker firing rate but dealing less damage. He lets out a sharp cry of disgust as one of the infected gets too close. It grabs onto his arm, and he shoved it back, firing rapidly until it falls back and doesn’t get up again. There’s so much going on at once, that the only words they manage to exchange over the din of gunfire and zombies are the repetitive calls of “ _Reloading_ ”, or “ _Cover me!_ ”

     Things settle down, and the bodies pile up. But the horde thins, and thankfully no more special infected come to pick them off. They’ve escaped mostly unscathed yet again. They’re still tense and ready for round two, guns raised and twisting in different directions, taking steps further away just to see if there’s any stragglers or another oncoming attack.  
  
                                                                Louis is the first to break the silence and says, “Well, it can only get better, right?”

   Francis throws his hands up after shouldering his gun and gives a bitter laugh. “Thanks for that, Mr. Positive. Got anything else _positive_ to say?”  
  
   Louis shoots him a look as he tucks his pistol away. He shrugs and says, “The sun is shining, and we’re all still alive, Francis. I think we’re doing pretty good out here.” 

     Bill lets out a gruff sound, and for several minutes the group has a small squabble. Zoey agrees with Louis that they _are_ in fact still alive, and it’s better than nothing; her words offer little solace however, when she mentions a few things from her knowledge of binge watching too many apocalypse movies. Francis gives sarcastic and disinterested replies with ‘ _whatever_ ’, and makes impatient sounds, continuing to taunt Louis. And Louis is patient, but his voice rises every now and then. He’s getting tired of Francis’ games. _Mr. Positive_ slowly becomes _Mr. Tired of Your Shit_ .  
  
      The heat’s made everyone irritable, and testy at best. They’re hungry too, and it’s a rising complaint with every mile or so. But at least the bickering is subsiding to short, one-phrase quips ( _mostly exchanged between Louis and Francis_ ). Louis has his sleeves rolled up, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and his tie loose. Even Bill’s rolled up his sleeves more and undone a few buttons from his jacket. He’s more reluctant to take anything off though. He says ‘ _This heat is nothin’ compared to my time in Nam._ ’  
  
      They stop at a gas station, and Bill tells everyone to take a rest. Sighs of relief soon follow as the group splits to sit or explore.  Zoey slips to the ground with her back against the building. She wipes sweat away with the back of her hand, and when that doesn’t do enough to satisfy her, she unties her jacket and rubs it across her face.  
  
      They’ve been walking for hours, and it seems like the _smoker_ found better things to hunt. They only stumbled across a few zombies along the way, easily taking them out without too much fuss. There’s a few around the gas station, but prior to stopping at it, they took advantage of scoping the area from a higher point. It’s nothing they can’t handle, and if they’re quiet enough, they won’t even notice the survivors are there.  
  
     Something drops into her lap with a soft crinkling. She looks down at it as Francis makes his rounds to each of them. They get the same greeting she did, with a wrapped cake snack bearing the _Hostess_ writing all over it.

   “Eat up ladies,” he says. “We dine like royalty today.”  
  
   Louis doesn’t miss a beat and asks, “Are you the Hostess with the mostest, Francis?”  
  
   Zoey laughs, and even Bill has to look away, smirking around his cigarette. Francis doesn’t reply until he’s sat down. He chooses to sit next to her, unwrapping his cake and taking a bite first.  
  
   “That’s right, Louis. And remember that it was _me_ who just fed you.” Francis points the other half of his twinkie towards Louis as he says the words.  
  
   “Thank you, Francis,” Louis offers genuinely, much to Francis’ surprise as he opens his own cake to eat.  
  
   “So, any idea where we’re headed guys?” Zoey poses the question but seeks the answer from Bill.

     They’d all have to agree of course, but usually they follow his direction. Both Louis and Francis take a moment to look at the veteran too. They wait for his input, smoke rising from the almost finished cigarette. Bill’s watching the sun set, probably gauging the time it would take for them to move on to the next city or county. The cars in the area aren’t in any condition to drive, but they are in a major city. The metro may not be functioning, but it could be a useful passage connecting to other, larger locations.  
  
   “We rest up. Make do with what we’ve got here. We’ll secure it to hold ‘til morning, then move out. We need to find another mode of transportation. We don’t move quick enough on foot.” Bill stops talking and looks over at Francis, who made a small sound at his words.  
  
   “Speak up Francis, your voice got muffled from being so far up your ass,” he growls, blowing smoke in the biker’s general direction.  
  
   Francis ignores him and gives a grunt of agreement to his prior statement. Louis is the one to speak up, nodding his agreement. He says, “Sounds like a plan. Maybe we’ll find another plane or something.”  
  
   “Yea, Zoey, you’ll get more target practice in if we do. There might still be a pilot around.”  
  
   Zoey’s response is immediate. She groans exasperated and claiming for probably the hundredth time: “He was a _zombie_ , Francis! A ZOMBIE.”

     “Zoey did what one of us would have needed to do,” Bill interrupted wearily. “And if it happens again, it happens again. But we need to try. We can’t just be sittin’ ducks for those things to chew on. So everyone rest up, gather what you can find, and tomorrow we move out.”

     A unanimous ‘ _yes sir_ ’ echoes from the other three. Watches are shared to be on the safe side. The gas station isn’t the greatest safe-place, but it’ll do for the night. Even as the sun dips out of sight and night envelopes them, the humid air cools only by a fraction, making their rest fitful.  
  
    _When the morning sun rises, so will they._

**Author's Note:**

> "the hour of departure arrives" which is the title of this series, is a (very slightly edited) part of a quote by Socrates, which I conveniently tumbled across via watching a show called "Containment." The full quote is: "The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our separate ways, I to die, and you to live. Which of these two is better only God knows."
> 
> With the continuation of this fic, I may or may not include the team from L4D 2!  
> (Assuming I even like how this turned out, and can continue with it....)
> 
> that last line totally isn't an undead joke (yes it is).


End file.
